Inked
by exosculate
Summary: Sam has a bit of a fear of getting tattoos, but people tell him that holding hands makes it better. Wincest :3 Why isn't fluff a category I mean really.


**Sorry for any typos but I just**

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Sam sat down in the chair, a knot in his stomach. He rubbed his sweaty palms together, looking nervously up at the man who was preparing his supplies. He was covered in ink and had his nose pierced like a bull—intimidating to say the least.

"Here ya go, buddy," Dean said as he handed the paper with the symbol on it to the man. "Think you can do that?"

The man smirked. "Man, yesterday I did a drawing of John Lennon across a chick's boobs. Sit down."

Dean's eyebrows rose and Sam could literally _see_ him considering becoming a tattoo artist. He sat down and smiled at Sam, eyebrows rising. Sam snorted and looked away, unbuttoning his shirt.

"Hey, Dave, come over here and help me ink these boys," the artist called. A skinny boy who was also covered in colorful tattoos came out from the back. Dave's tongue slipped out from between his lips and messed with his lip piercing as he stared at Sam.

"Which one you want, Dirk?" Dave asked as he walked over to grab the design from Dirk.

"I'll take this one," he said, pointing to Dean as Dave sketched the anti-possession charm onto another paper. Dirk moved over to Dean as Dave finished. "Where you want it?"

Dave finished his drawing and threw it at Dirk as he walked over to Sam. "Alright, were should I start?" Sam pushed his shirt away from his chest and pointed.

"Right here," he sighed out, hoping that his nerves weren't obvious in his voice.

Dave nodded. "I promise you probably won't die from this."

Sam chuckled nervously. "Thanks." He looked over to Dean, where Dirk was already carving to the best of his ability. He heard Dave's pen begin buzzing as he placed a piece of paper on his chest. He couldn't look at it so he stared at Dean.

"You ok, Sammy? You look like you've just seen a ghost." Dean laughed at his "joke" while Sam gave him one of his famous _looks_.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam growled as Dave warned him not to jump. He lowered the pen to Sam's skin and it was all the hunter could do not to yelp.

"He's very sensitive," Dean laughed to Dirk. The tattoo artist shook his head.

"It helps to squeeze something," Dirk said, not looking up from his work. "Do what you have to, I won't judge you."

"Me neither," added Dave. "I cried like a baby my first time."

Sam let out a nervous laugh that was mostly air. His fingers dug into his pants, but it wasn't enough. He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, trying to ignore the constant feeling of needles being stabbed into his chest.

"Sammy," Dean said from beside him. Sam turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow when he held his hand out. "Wanna hold hands?"

Sam growled at him. "Don't be stupid," he said, turning to look back at the ceiling.

He heard Dean let out a grunt of disappointment. "Don't be a little bitch. Hold my hand."

"Dean, we aren't five. That's weird."

"Sammy, I'm shocked! Are you thinking dirty thoughts?"

Sam's eyes widened, heat rising to his cheeks. "No! S-Shut up. You're gross!"

"You hurt me, man, you hurt me deep." He shook his hand impatiently. "Just take it. You're making this harder than it needs to be."

Sam stared at Dean stubbornly for a moment before sighing and reaching out to grab his hand. Dean smiled victoriously, and Sam looked up at the ceiling, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

He squeezed his brother's hand as Dave finished outlining the symbol and began filling it in. Dean squeezed back and began swinging their intertwined hands comfortingly, his thumb lazily drawing circles on the back of Sam's hand. The younger blushed slightly as Dean caressed his hand, letting out a small sigh.

"Almost done," Dirk announced after a few minutes of silence. Sam's eyebrows rose and he turned to look at Dean, who smiled at him.

"That was quick," Sam said. He hadn't even noticed Dave finishing up—his mind having been on their hands being locked together.

"Time flies when you're having fun," Dave said with a wicked smirk at Sam.

The hunter flushed cherry red at the words and the look Dave was giving him. "I'm not—"

Dave shushed him as he returned to his work, coloring in the very last of the tattoo with a smile on his lips. He pulled the pen back and looked up at Sam. "Look good?"

Sam nodded. "Very." He looked at their hands and slowly let his fingers relax. Their hands fell apart, and Dean looked up with a big, stupid grin.

"See, Sammy? That wasn't so bad, now was it?"

"Shut up, Dean." Sam nodded and muttered a small thanks to Dave as he started to button his shirt.

"Thanks, man," Dean said, clapping Dirk on the shoulder.

Dirk nodded. "You already paid so," he motioned toward the door, "you're free to go. Come back any time."

Dean laughed. "Maybe I will." He looked to Sam as he got up. "Whaddya say? Think you could go for some more ink?"

"Don't make me hit you." Sam rubbed his hands together, noticing how much warmer the one that Dean had been holding was.

Dean chuckled as he walked out, waving to Dave and Dirk once more before they got in the Impala.

There was a tense silence once the doors shut, neither of them quite sure what to say about what had just occurred. But, then, Dean leaned in and turned on the radio, blasting classic rock into Sam's ears. He turned to his brother with a big smile, shaking his head.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."


End file.
